The Pep Talk
by onepromise
Summary: Brooke/Sam Femslash. After Brooke messes up her confession of undying love to Sam, she seeks some help from an unlikely source.


Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy owns Popular. I own a ukulele and a laptop. He wins.

Authors Notes: I wrote this a while ago, never posted it though because this was actually supposed to be a part of "Intoxicated Declarations" but when I wrote that fic I had decided against the clichéd and angst filled 'You're just drunk! You don't love me/wait! Come back, I DO love you!' So, this is a one-shot BUT you could also think of it as an alternate universe in which Brooke actually was drunk in 'ID'. Have fun!

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Brooke's thumbnail at one point in its lifetime was an iconic symbol of poise, social stature and grace. Pampered twice a month by the genius that is Terry over at Angel's Nail Salon on Lincoln, it has seen its fair share of envious onlookers. But alas, the days of this particular cuticles prime seem to be far over, for Brooke has a nervous habit of gnawing on it most vehemently when put under certain Sam-related stressors. And this one was a big one.

Brooke was freaking out, in that very teenage 'the world could very well implode right now and she would consider it a gift from the gods' way. It was well into the early morning when she'd woken up to the evil wretched sound of the coffee grinder doing its usual business for Mike from downstairs in the kitchen. The strange thing was that she'd never been yanked from her slumber by the appliance before since her room was the furthest from the kitchen. Groggy and disoriented Brooke took a minute -or ten- to observe her surroundings and came to the conclusion: Hallway.

Then she remembered. The party, the alcohol, the taxi ride home, the… Sam, the words, and the kiss! All of it came crashing back into her psyche and it was all Brooke could do not to heave up last night's meager appetizers. Taking a deep breath and gingerly standing up on shaky legs Brooke somberly made her way to her own room to nurse away her hangover…

That was roughly seven hours ago and now fully aware of her complete and utter failure to reveal her true feelings to the girl of her dreams; Brooke was freaking out, nibbling on her poor defenseless thumbnail and speed dialing her best friend.

"I screwed up!" Brooke said in a frenzied rush when she heard the receiving party pick up "Royally." She added.

"Talk." Nicole asserted, immediately focusing all of her attention to her cheerleading captains undoubtedly juicy gossip. "C'mon, Brookie! Spill." Brooke could practically hear her smirking.

"Last night after I left your party… I sorta… kissed Sam." Brooke timidly admitted.

"Oh my gawd! Spam? Ew. Are you seriously _still_ going on about that muckraker?" Nicole knew all about Brookes flirtation with the Sapphic lifestyle, and had called her on it months ago when she'd caught one of the taller girls practically infamous 'looks of longing' directed at Spam. Ew. Nicole was supportive from the start, about the gay-ness at least, which in itself was much to Brookes surprise. Then her satanic classmate had explained that she herself had been entertaining the idea of bisexuality for sometime, but hadn't planned on actually committing the act until college – that's where it was "in"- like ecstasy. "Brooke. Two thousand girls at Kennedy, of that I'd bet my left nut that at least a hundred of them are gay and you want to chase after that putrid little wannabe? … Incomprehensible."

Brooke sighed, headache forming. "I'm well versed in that speech Nic, can we focus on the 'me getting too frisky and scaring her off part'?"

"Frisky? Did you cop a feel?" Nicole was torn between leering in her favorite pervy manner and throwing up. Spam. Ew.

"No, that was a figure of speech. I only kissed her and… it was amazing, I'd never been that close to her before… I could smell her-" Brooke stopped, she could hear gagging noises on the other line. "Ha. Ha. Very funny Nic, alright I get it. No talking about Sam like she's the main character in one of your moms romance novels."

"Thank you!"

"So I was kissing her and I swear I thought she was kissing me back and then all of a sudden she just bolts, says I'm drunk, I don't know what I'm doing, that it… it was a mistake… I love her Nic, I meant it but I don't think she'll ever believe me now. What should I do?" Brooke pleaded, choking back tears.

Nicole rolled her eyes, she loved her friend but sometimes Brooke could be really blonde. And she had to remind herself why she was helping her, because helping Brooke would also mean she was helping that reject get laid. Nicole took a deep calming breath, _Best friend best friend best friend…_ "You have to talk to her. You have to get up off your little butt and go find out what is going on in that dingy unconditioned head of hers. If you want my opinion, the one that hasn't changed since you finally admitted to liking that slander spreader; she's in love with you. Spam's not like most guys who would undoubtedly take full advantage of the 'drunk and horny Head Cheerleader'. She probably thought you'd bail in the morning and never talk to her again or something else 'angst ridden and low self-esteem-y.' because duh, you're Brooke McQueen and she would never in a million years think you felt the same way about her."

Brooke nibbled on her bottom lip, "You really think so?"

"I know so. You doubt me? I am Nicole freaking Julian!" Brooke heard laughter in the background over the receiver, "Now hang up the phone, brush your teeth, apologize for mauling the girl and tell her you love her so you two can ride off into the rainbow sunset on your majestically gay unicorn and I can get back to my… very flexible Latino house guest."

A new sense of confidence and warmth spread out from the pit of Brooke's stomach infusing her entire being with hope. She smiled. "Thanks Nic."

"Oh, and one more thing B, this conversation never happened." Click.


End file.
